


a home for all

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub Play, Extra Treat, Leashes, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Referenced Xeno, bdsm club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “This ain’t just a cross-species hot spot, man. It’s...your kind ain’t top dog in a place like this. Things can get weird real quick.”Thor lit up like his ears didn't work. “So you’ve been to this sort of establishment. Wonderful. It’s settled then.”





	a home for all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> Happy Choco Box, lionessvalenti!

“Would you like me to wear one?”

Rocket has no idea what Thor is talking about. The peach-skinned thing next to them has on all kinds of stuff. Skin tight leather trousers. Studded wrist cuffs with a metal chain between them. Metal teeth nipple clamps turning the guy's skin into blood red pebbles.

Rocket settles on the leather strap snug around his neck. He looks at Thor, incredulous. “You want a collar?”

Thor shrugs. “I’d like to meet expectations. We seem to be getting quite a bit of attention.”

It’s true, they’ve had more than one pair turn their way since they arrived at this dump. But that has nothing to do with Rocket leading the King of freaking Asgard around, nah. People are staring because Thor isn’t _wearing a collar_... Idiot.

Rocket should have turned down this dumb idea the second it came up. Problem is, when half of all life poofs out of existence, even stupid ideas start making sense.

Rocket knows now that no word is coming on his crew. They're gone, that's what Thor's iron buddy said. Quill, Mantis, and Drax went up in puffs of smoke. And Gamora was trapped by Thanos and never came back. He probably exchanged her for the Soul Stone, Nebula said.

Exchanged her. Like Gamora was a damn chip on a betting table.

A few weeks ago, word hit that a Kronan came through this place. Big guy, aloof, bit of a bluish shadow to his stone. It was a long shot, but Thor wanted to check it out, see if it was one of his pals. Rocket insisted on tagging along. Until they learned what kind of spot it was.

“Elixir: A Home for All? Ugh,” Rocket muttered as he read the fine print. “You sure you want in on a place like this, Thor? It's a sex market.”

“A coupling place welcome to all species, yes,” Thor said. “It makes perfect sense for us to go together.”

Right. Perfect sense. “This ain’t just a cross-species hot spot, man. It’s...your kind ain’t top dog in a place like this. Things can get weird real quick.”

Thor lit up like his ears didn't work. “So you’ve been to this sort of establishment. Wonderful. It’s settled then.”

One humanoid-looking mate makes up each pair at Elixir. There are some like Thor, burly warriors and strong, solid bodies. Others are way more curvaceous, lighter, softer. The second half of each coupling is non-humanoid. Some have fur like Rocket. Others are tall, layered in thick scales, and walk on two feet, or four, or twelve.

Human-ish bodies drown in black oil tentacles or get spread out for the exploration of a long snout. They take scaled cocks down their mouths and writhe under the smack of paddle-like hands on their ass. A feast of debauchery surrounds them, and all Thor can do is ask if he should have a freaking collar.

Speaking of feasts, Thor looks like a five-course meal. He’s cleaned up his beard and trimmed his hair to a more even cut. Somehow, he managed to find a see-through black shirt too. His body looks like a brick wall with all the lines jutting out through a thin layer of mesh. His fake eye whirs every now and then in the darkness. One bulb overhead gives off fragments of silver light. The rest of the room sits in shadow; even Rocket struggles to keep from tripping.

Rocket has no reason to take his anger out on Thor. It's not Thor's fault his stupid idea shoves Rocket's **Hey, I'm into you, dumbass!** signs back in his face. But Thor is clueless, and Rocket is hurt. And when Rocket is hurt, he gets madder than hell.

When Rocket turns on Thor, his blood is boiling. “You want a collar?” he barks.

Gazes slant towards them, and heads twist of all shapes and sizes. Thor’s eyes widen a fraction. “Err, yes?”

Screw Thor, Rocket thinks. Screw him for being beautiful and kind and brave. Screw him for never wanting Rocket in a million years. Rocket taps an impatient foot on the ground. Thor’s expression turns more questioning, and the stares of their bystanders hungrier.

Finally, something connects. Thor’s abrupt, “Oh,” comes with a contrite smile. “Yes, sir.” Thor enunciates every word with care. “I would like a collar. If you would like me to have one?”

“They’re in the back,” comes a helpful whisper from the crowd, followed by a smattering of laughs.

With the collar matter settled, the attention on them wanes. Rocket rolls his eyes and starts towards the far side of the room. Embarrassment heats the back of his neck.

Their nice bystander wasn’t kidding. There is a stand along Elixir’s back wall for collars. Hell, there’s a stand along the back wall for anything a person could want. Paddles, handcuffs, toys that go up, and around, and in.

There’s a Valeran waiting for them, bulbous green head and long trunk-snout. It should not have heard them over the music, but a spread of collar choices is already waiting for them. Leather straps line the counter like a jeweler’s case. There are slim collars, thick collars, collars with long metal spikes. There are temperature controlled collars - hot or cold based on one's fancy. Collars that change colors, collars that constrict with a single word from the owner.

Thor peruses the counter with no visible reaction. Anxiousness thickens in Rocket’s throat. “You pick,” he says.

Thor's abrupt blink gives away his surprise. “Alright.” He selects the strip in the very middle of the display. It is a simple black collar, its only adornment a silver hook in the center of the throat.

“Perfect for a leash,” the Valeran says with the knowing wink.

“Uh, yeah,” Rocket mumbles, “a leash.” Holy shit. Thor will bust a gasket at the suggestion - or, Rocket expects him to. Turns out, Thor is too busy taking off his shirt. Rocket frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Oh.” Thor returns his confusion. “The others removed their shirts. The ones with the collars and the leashes. I can… Would you like me to put it back on?”

“Nah, it’s ok, it’s just-” Rocket’s brain screams, and a shiver settles into his hands. He is not prepared for this. “Come on,” Rocket mumbles, nodding towards the floor. “I’ll put it on.”

Rocket knows what he just asked, but it’s still crazy when Thor drops to both knees in front of him. He gives Rocket a faint smile before lifting his head and closing his eyes. Complete trust, neck bared and hands slack on his thighs. He’s tucked his shirt into the back pocket of his pants, the mesh hanging out like a flag of pride.

Clearing his throat, Rocket steps around Thor to fasten the collar. It closes after a struggle, Thor’s throat thick under the leather. Thor gives a testing swallow, and the fabric bobs with him. Rocket swallows too, for different reasons.

“Suggestion.” The Valeran’s large head looms over the counter. Its pudgy, scaled hand holds out a thick leash. The leather strap is looped at one end, a metal latch at the other. “For his size, I’d go a little heavier,” it says. “Get out of line, and you can-” it bends the leash and smacks it once in the air. The leather recoils with a swift pop. “No gimmicks. You all seem like the no frill type.”

It takes a second for Rocket to realize he’s gawking. “Uh, right. Yeah. That’s a, that’s a good suggestion. Thanks, man.” He fumbles for the leash. It’s so wide that his hands can’t close all the way around it. “Why don’t we move? So I can, uh, get this on ya, huh?” Silence answers, and Rocket winces. He braces himself for the temper he’s been waiting on all night.

Instead, Rocket finds a startled part to Thor’s lips. His heart drops to his toes. Forget Thor never catching feelings like Rocket. Rocket may have screwed their friendship to hell by going along with this stupid idea. “Hey,” Rocket says, quiet, a little desperate. He gives Thor’s arm a nudge.

Thor’s attention snaps to him. He looks shaken. “Yes. Right. You wanted to, um.” He glances at the Valeran watching them with beedy, squinted eyes. “I mean, yes, sir. Lead on. Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” Rocket blurts. For once, he’s glad to be a furry little monster so the mortified heat doesn’t show on his face. “Get up. Let’s go.”

Thor rises immediately. It’s not right for a king to follow commands so seamlessly. His posture is straight and strong, save his head which he keeps bowed. Rocket notices an anxious fidget in Thor's fingers. Throat cleared, Rocket gets them away from the too-interested Valeran as fast as he can.

Entertainment at Elixir is adventurous. There’s a dance floor for the mild types and a bar area where patrons and their partners can laugh and get hammered. There are also more hardcore forms of fun. Tables and walls with straps and other weird shaped things Rocket doesn’t even want to think about.

Luckily, there are regular seats too, cushioned and large enough for two. Rocket climbs onto the first empty one he finds. It’s at a good vantage point, angled to see the dance floor but also the rows of other seats. The pairs around them are already involved in activity involving far less clothes.

Thor kneels before the couch without being bid. Again, he offers his neck, hands set on the cushion at Rocket's sides. A few casual glances turn their direction.

Rocket wonders if these jerks know exactly who Thor is. Must amuse them for a king to bend the knee to something like Rocket. Or, maybe they don’t know Thor, but they can guess he’s someone important. Thor moves with a regal gait that he can’t seem to hide no matter how hard he tries.

Rocket hooks the latch of the leash into the matching metal loop on Thor’s collar. Thor keeps his head turned until the leash clicks into place. Then, he gazes at Rocket, still on one knee, like he expects more. Rocket's head goes light. “You can sit up here, you know.”

“But the others-”

“I don’t care what they’re doing. Sit next to me, man, come on. You're weirding me out.” Thor rises immediately and sits at his side. His big body sinks into the cushions. On reflex, Rocket squeezes the leash between his fingers. “So, uh, now we wait, I guess.”

Thor looks around before leaning close. “Forgive me, Rabbit. This plan was - I doubt Korg is the type to frequent an establishment like this. There are many Kronans left in this universe who must seek comfort where they can. I took a fraction of a chance, that is my right. But it was wrong to drag you into this.”

Rocket has been expecting Thor's embarrassment this whole time. Now that the moment has arrived, he’s left hollow. “Whatever, man,” Rocket mumbles. “You’d do the same for me if I needed your help. I want you to find your people if they're still out there.”

Thor cracks a smile, but sadness lingers on him. “I only hope I have not tarnished our friendship. I value it, and you, very much.”

He knows how to hit where it hurts. Rocket scowls and gives the leash a warning tug. “Shut up,” he says. “If you tarnished anything, I would’ve handed you over to that Valeran. He was sizing you up. Total creepfest.”

The joke isn't enough to lift Thor's spirits, to Rocket's surprise. His eyes sink, the fake one whirring as it focuses on the ground. “We will not stay long,” Thor promises. “If there are no leads tonight, we will never return here.”

“Fine by me,” Rocket says. He feels cold. “I’m gonna hit the bar, you want anything?”

“They come around,” Thor says, head still down. “For drinks. You do not need to go up front.” Rocket shrugs.

It isn’t until he’s mid-order on an Estardian barrel whiskey that he thinks to wonder how Thor knew.

***

Rocket has a funny feeling. A tickle in the back of his brain is telling him he’s missing something. Thor let him know the stakes. They’re in this for Thor's Kronan pal, Thor has no reason to lie. But something isn’t adding up.

Ok, lots of things aren’t adding up.

“That being with the angled face - yes, the one in the black.” Thor nods across the crowd. “That’s the dealer. You see the belt, the lights on it with the different colors? The blue means he has a specimen he’s looking to sell for the evening. The green is a sign that one is already sold. He will come around and proposition all of your kind, it is quite normal to say no if you are content with only one mate.”

“Uh-huh.” Rocket balances his whiskey between his thighs. “You sure know a lot about these spots.”

Thor shrugs. “Asgardians frequent them, as do any other race. It is my duty to know as much as I can about all matters, even ones as trivial as these.”

Normally, Thor spreads himself as big as his space allows. He’s a large dude, and he wants to open his legs and extend his arms as far as they can go. Tonight, Thor keeps himself tucked in, knees together, hands on his thighs. He scans the crowd around them with interest.

Every once in awhile, he stops on a coupling. A bare ass being paddled by a grinning Contraxian. More than one hole plugged up by an Askavarian. The guy they passed towards the front still has his nipples clamped tight. By the sweat on his brow and the dazed shine to his eyes, the poor sap isn’t far from blacking out.

Rocket snorts. “Guess gods see all kinds of kinky shit, huh?”

“I have no problem with it,” Thor tells him. “Everyone here consents to their treatment. There are far more pressing concerns than those who delight in the company of others.”

There’s a thought on the tip of Rocket’s tongue, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn't even know how to think it without his eyeballs bulging and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “So, let’s say that Valeran comes back to check on our play time. You got a thing you’re cool with doing?”

“A thing?” Thor looks at Rocket with surprise.

“Yeah, a ‘delight in the company of others’ thing,” Rocket says. “For our cover.”

“Well, I…” Thor clasps his hands in his lap. “Whatever you are comfortable with, Rabbit. I’m happy to follow your lead.”

Rocket shakes his head. “Not good enough,” he says. “I’ve gotta know you’re ok with whatever it is. There’s no ‘following my lead’ in a spot like this. If I break out something you’re not cool with…”

Thor stares as if he expects Rocket to finish his sentence. When he doesn’t, Thor frowns. “I suppose I would not be opposed to those?” His eyes drift to those tortured red nipples trapped in the snug, teeth-fenced clamps. “There is little here I would be unwilling to try if necessary.”

Thor throws the sentiment out like he hasn’t said something major. Rocket’s mouth slips open. “So, uh...gods do more than see kinky shit, I guess.”

This makes Thor smile. “I trust you, Rabbit. Whatever you desire of me, I will follow.”

The guy is messing with Rocket, has to be. He’s playing a role, saying what he’s supposed to say. Rocket works fresh saliva in his mouth. “I’m not ‘Rabbit’ here,” he says. “Remember?”

He can’t even hear Thor's laugh, the sound is buried so deep in his throat. Thor lowers his head dutifully, eye contact breaking. “Whatever you desire of me, I will follow, sir.”

Fuck Rocket with one of those scary chairs they passed on the way up here. Maybe the whiskey is getting to him, but he swears he can make out color on Thor’s face. Makes sense, this must be embarrassing for the guy. Or… Nah, no way.

“You’re good at this,” Rocket says quietly.

“So are you,” Thor says, gaze lifting to meet Rocket’s, “sir.”

Fuck this. Fuck Thor. Fuck everything in Rocket’s fucked up life. Rocket's brain shorts out, and every impulse in his body reduces to a cycle of ‘I’m screwed' on repeat. Rocket is over everything.

In one motion, he gulps down whatever is left in his whiskey glass. In the next, he chucks the tumbler away and grabs a fist full of Thor’s leash. His tug does not do very much, it’s like trying to walk a mountain. Thor gives him a quizzical look at the gentle pressure on his neck.

Rocket is calling Thor’s bluff, screw him. “You’re good with whatever, huh?” He gives the leash another tug. “Make out with me,” he says. “Do it.”

Here comes the cackle at Rocket’s expense. The wide-eyed horror. The wrinkled-nose disgust. The stammered backpedaling. The insistence that they leave now, this whole thing has gotten out of hand.

Rocket blinks at a large hand cradling his head. Thor leans into his space and presses his face to Rocket’s snout. He does not hesitate at the weirdness, or the logistics. It doesn't make sense for something shaped like Thor to kiss something shaped like Rocket. But Thor's lips touch Rocket's nose, and drift down to graze a corner of Rocket’s mouth. It's like Thor knows how to make this work. Like he's thought about it before. Rocket sucks in a breath. He scratches at the hand Thor cradles against his face.

“You’ll tell me if I should stop?” Thor asks. His voice is a rumble against Rocket’s snout.

“Yeah,” Rocket says, but he has no idea why he would. If the building burned down? Even then, he'd probably hesitate.

Thor is _kissing_ _him_. His lips linger at the corner of Rocket's mouth, their noses nestled together. Thor's broad thumb crosses his cheek.

“You,” Rocket tries to speak through hitching breaths, “uh, you come to spots like this a lot?”

“No,” Thor says. “A few times in my youth.”

Rocket pictures a young Thor being led around a spot like this. Stretched out by the trunk of a Valeran or filled up by all the arms of an Askavarian. The thought makes Rocket's head spin. “So,” his voice goes up in pitch, “how long you been wanting to make out with me?”

Thor huffs a laugh; his exhale warms Rocket’s fur. “I cannot tell you that, Rabbit,” he says. “It’s quite embarrassing.”

“I can make you,” Rocket reminds him. He noses at Thor’s ear. “Tonight I can make you tell me.”

Thor nods. “You can make me do many things,” he agrees quietly.

Oh. He actually wants… Holy shit.

This close, Rocket feels the warmth of Thor’s cheek through his fur and hears the heavier rasp of his exhales. Rocket has started to squirm, too many good feelings to fit inside his body. “So, nipple clamps, huh?” His brow rises.

Thor’s laugh this time sounds small. “Do not mock me,” he says. “It was a long time ago.”

Rocket only needs one second to consider. He noses at Thor's shoulder. “Go see our Valeran buddy. Pick out something you like.”

“Rabbit, truly, you do not have to do this.”

Rocket bumps his nose against Thor’s jaw, enough to make him raise his head. Their eyes meet, a soft whir of Thor’s fake as he zeroes in on Rocket’s face. The darkness of Thor’s good eye is incredible, heated but anxious. His restraint shows in the lip he’s caught between his teeth.

“I ain’t ‘Rabbit’ tonight,” Rocket says. “Don’t forget again. I mean it.”

Maybe they both need this. Maybe they’re both out of their damn minds. State of their lives, state of the universe, who can blame them?

Whatever the reason, a shudder rolls between Thor’s shoulders. He mumbles a quiet, “Yes, sir,” rises to his feet, and retreats to the back.

Rocket’s heart hammers in his chest.

*The End*


End file.
